


Promises, Promises

by idelthoughts



Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 09:33:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4174869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idelthoughts/pseuds/idelthoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Horatio is to become a husband in three days, to leave as captain of the <i>Hotspur</i> in four.  Two new roles, both of them terrifying.  Also new: kissing Bush.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promises, Promises

**Author's Note:**

> I've remembered and forgotten about this fic at least three times in the past year. Time to call it done.
> 
> Thank you to binz and shiplizard for gently patting my hand and telling me it was okay, and tidying up my errors.

“You proposed to her?”

Bush, caught in the middle of wrapping his queue, stopped to look around. Horatio grimaced.

“Yes, William. I wouldn’t need a best man if I hadn’t.”

Bush dropped his arms, abandoning his hair.

“Because she _cried_? Gods teeth man, each of my sisters would be married seven times over if tears were all it took to secure a marriage proposal.”

“No! I didn’t—“ Horatio sighed. This was going poorly. “She’s been kind. A good friend.”

He searched for more, but there wasn’t much he could say. Mostly he felt like a rabbit caught a trap, but one entirely of his own design. If ever he wished a moment to live over again… But no, Maria was kind, truly. And she loved him dearly, which was a fine virtue in a wife, and it would be good. Horatio mustered a confident smile.

Bush looked unconvinced, but returned to wrapping his hair. When the end was knotted, he nodded.

“Of course. It would be my honour.”

He held out his hand, and Horatio took it with great relief. Knowing Bush would be there at his side would make this easier.

Bush pulled his hand to direct him around, spinning him and looking him up and down, front and back. He shook his head and released Horatio.

“We’ll have to get you a dress uniform.”

A few extra pounds remained in his breast pocket from a few profitable nights at the Long Rooms, and Horatio nodded his agreement. It would be another expense, and now he must think even more carefully on each one; he would have a wife to support with his already meagre pay, and the wife of a captain should not be forced to pinch pennies like a destitute pauper. It would not look good for either of them, should he wish to be welcomed into the society of captains, and the men and women of titles and wealth that walked among them.

Bush clapped him on the shoulder, and his eye fell upon the gold epaulette that now graced Horatio’s shoulder, newly pinned in place after his time lingering as a shipless lieutenant on half-pay. Bush ran a thumb over it before dropping his hand.

“It would be my honour,” he repeated.

Horatio forgot his reserve and grinned at Bush, pleased beyond all reason.

***

The wedding planning was a hasty affair, with Maria and her mother falling into a frenzied state of excitement to assemble all the details in the three days before Horatio shipped out.

Horatio claimed the armchair in the sitting room as his fortress and dragged it to one corner, angling it so its back faced the walls, and then tried to hide behind the Naval Gazette while they tore through the house on one task or another. More often than not he would look up to see himself flanked on both sides by the women, Maria glowing with love and excitement, and her mother sour-faced and brandishing a list of tasks for him.

Bush, still lodging upstairs in a room of his own—now free of charge on Maria’s insistence, though Maria’s mother grumbled bitterly about the lost income—would join him on occasion to hold the line. When the flurry became too much for both of them, he would help Horatio plot an escape to the Long Rooms, or walk with him to the harbour and size up the _Hotspur_ , soon to be their whole world for however long their duty decreed.

Horatio could not wait.

He knew he should look forward to his wedding, but all he could see in his mind was the first moment on deck that was to come, with Bush as his first lieutenant, dependable and ready for anything.

He glanced to Bush, whose profile was cast with dark shadows in the setting sun as he looked out at _Hotspur_ pulling at her anchor in the bay.

“She is beautiful, sir,” Bush said, and looked to Horatio. “A fine ship.”

They worked as a seamless team—always had, from their first days as lieutenants together—with a dynamic as natural as breathing. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, in the pursuit of their duty Bush trusted him with naive devotion, and had never questioned his schemes or ideas. For the best, as Bush had never been the most imaginative man; but he was loyal and competent, and dependable to a fault. The last few days of preparing the _Hotspur_ for her voyage had proven that Bush was an excellent choice as his first lieutenant.

To his chagrin, Horatio had come to rely on Bush as much as Bush trusted him in return. The list of preparations to make was long, and partially obscured by his coming nuptials. Several times he’d woken in the middle of the night with some forgotten task, and would wait, sleepless and mind whirring, until Bush rose and he could make plans. Often, it was only to find that Bush had it in hand, predicting his and the ship’s needs seamlessly. Horatio bit down on his flustered embarrassment in these moments, both grateful for Bush’s competence and irritated that his subordinate should be catching and covering for his lengthening list of command missteps.

All this, and they hadn’t even left shore yet. His growing debt to Bush weighed heavy on him.

The responsibilities of friendship felt more than he could shoulder, such that he preferred to avoid it where possible. And yet here he stood, soon to be married, and a friend he relied on in both his personal and professional life. He could not be more tied. Tension rolled his stomach into a tight ball. He was being drawn along by circumstances far faster than he wished. He turned the days to come over and over in his mind, but for all his imaginings, they would proceed as fate—and his own impulsive, overly emotive choices—dictated.

 _Hotspur_ floated out of reach, taunting him with promises of the orderly freedom of duty and command, where things would damned well go as he decreed.

“Are you alright, sir?”

Bush sounded concerned, and Horatio felt an irrational irritation at his perceptiveness, and his own inability to mask his agitation.

“I am fine, Mr. Bush.”

Bush’s silence spoke plenty to his hurt at being dismissed so. Horatio stamped down his desire to apologize and explain away his rudeness, reminding himself that a captain had no need to justify himself.

Bush must have already grown accustomed to his moods, as he quickly brushed it aside and clasped his hands behind his back.

“Shall we find some entertainment for the evening?”

“I do not believe I am so inclined. Perhaps a quiet evening in,” Horatio grunted.

“Of course, sir. Mrs. Mason will be pleased; I believe she was eager to have your assistance with the matter of church hall dressing.”

The reminder of Maria’s cloying enthusiasm and the shrill harping of his mother-in-law was enough to drive all thoughts of return from him. He gave Bush a baleful look, who returned it with serene innocence.

“Games? Drink?” Bush’s mouth pulled into a half-smile. “Other amusement?”

It was tempting. Certainly better than what waited for him.

But this was his life ashore now, his future, and as much his duty as his shipboard ones. If he were to be a good husband, he must be present when his orders allowed, and not hiding in ale houses from his soon to be mother-in-law. He took a cleansing breath and smiled politely.

“I fear, William, that I am quite tired. But please, do not let me keep you. I shall not condemn us both to the preparation of floral arrangements.”

Bush nodded deferentially.

“As you like, sir.”

They walked back to Mrs. Mason’s establishment, and at the door parted company.

“Good night, Mr. Bush.”

“Good night, Captain.”

Horatio turned to go in, but paused in the doorway to watch as Bush strolled down the street, hands in his pockets.

“Horry? Is that you?” Maria’s voice floated from the sitting room.

He sighed and rested his forehead on the door jamb. Floral arrangements and wedding preparation, as good as penance for his sins.

 

***

Horatio woke from a restless sleep. The room was black, only the dim glow of lamps in the street casting a faint light into his room. He rolled over, hoping to sleep again, but the sound of drunken voices in the street dragged him out of any hopes of slumber.

He rose and went to the window, intent on hurling abuse at the rowdy merrymakers. He had already been resting poorly, but he was eager to heap the blame on someone else for his troubles.

But it was Bush who stood at the doorstep, laughing and waving goodnight to three other lieutenants he did not recognize. Friends made over ale cups, no doubt. Their loud, grating voices faded as they staggered on, and Bush pushed his way through the door. Banging and shuffling echoed all the way up the stairway to Horatio’s room, a floor above.

The drunken oaf would wake the whole house, and God help them if he did. He could not stand to listen to Mrs. Mason’s voice another moment; it had been a long night of listening to her speak on and on about glorious future plans, and how she hoped he would be more successful in his prize money career than his destitute past indicated. If Bush woke her, it would be no end of shrill abuse. Horatio grabbed for his breeches and stepped into them, fastening them as he hurried into the hall.

He hurried down the stairs as heavy footsteps thudded up towards him. Bush hummed something, loud and annoying, and Horatio’s irritation grew.

“Mr. Bush!” he hissed. “William!”

He rounded the landing and met Bush, who nearly toppled backward at seeing Horatio several steps above him.

“Mr. Hornblower!” he cried, throwing a welcoming arm wide. “My captain!”

Drunk as a lord, and merry as one. Horatio despaired at getting him upstairs in a quiet manner.

“Mr. Bush, the household is asleep. Some discretion, if you please!”

Bush held a finger to his lips. He misjudged his next step and stumbled, hands thumping on the steps as he caught himself. Horatio came to Bush’s side and took hold around Bush’s torso, and Bush threw his arm around Horatio’s shoulder in return. He grinned, red-faced and pleasant, nearly throttling Horatio in his enthusiasm.

“My friend, my dear friend,” he wheezed.

“Indeed,” Horatio agreed, bemused by Bush’s affection. Nonetheless, his antics pulled a smile from him. He heaved and encouraged Bush up the stairs, wincing at every loud creak and stomp. “A pleasant evening?”

“Oh yes, most excellent. Revictualling the soul before a long voyage is—” Bush hiccuped, and continued, “—paramount.”

“I do not think it is your soul that will bear the consequences of your entertainment,” Horatio snorted.

“You think too much, sir.” Bush shook his head with a grin.

That made him laugh aloud, for he could admit that was true.

Bush’s levity was catching, and they pushed through the door to Bush’s room, both giggling childishly. Horatio shushed Bush when he knocked into the wardrobe by the door, and Bush touched his forehead in salute, a mockery of a conscientious and tidy officer he normally was, before he shuffled to the bed and dropped into it with a groan, flat on his back with one leg hanging by.

Horatio was tempted to leave him there to sleep off his indulgence, but he pitied the man an uncomfortable night’s rest bound up in the thick wool uniform. He bent and pulled off Bush’s boots, and then held out his hand.

“Come, now. Rouse yourself.”

Bush groaned again, but took the hand and let himself be pulled to sitting again, already growing bleary-eyed with sleep. Horatio had to manhandle him out of his uniform jacket; every move he made worked against Bush and his clumsy limbs, and it took some doing to pry it from him. Horatio kneeled on the bed, pulling while Bush twisted, and finally Bush was free. Bush flopped back on the bed with a huff, and Horatio braced himself on one arm and knee on the bed and brandished the uniform jacket like a victory prize above Bush’s face. Bush smiled up at him.

“Honestly, Mr. Bush, such a fuss.”

“I know, sir. A terrible excuse for a first officer,” he said with a grin.

“No such thing,” Horatio tutted, tossing the jacket to the chair at the bedside. “The very best.”

He’d uttered it in witty jest, but he knew Bush heard the heartfelt sentiment when Bush’s smile shifted to something smaller; quieter, more grateful. Horatio blushed, both embarrassed and fond. The simplicity of Bush’s trust and faith was humbling. He did not know how Bush could place such weight on Horatio’s words.

A long line of shining waistcoat buttons waited for the attention of Bush’s clumsy fingers; but, feeling attentive and sentimental, Horatio knelt on the bed again and brushed his hands aside and set to work. From bottom to top, like a parting seam.

Bush relaxed into contentment, gentle and easy under Horatio’s ministrations. So different from the man who stood like a figurehead on the deck, putting the fear of God and the Service into men and boys alike. When they’d first met he’d held the fanciful belief that Bush was composed of rock, eroded into the shape of a man, the years of sea winds taking the raw materials and creating this stalwart creature stoically suited to life at sea.

On a whim, Horatio put a hand on the chest exposed between the parted front of the waistcoat, warm through the white linen shirt. When he pressed gently, the flesh yielded, the draw of breath making his hand rise and fall. Soft, human.

Bush put a hand on his, holding it tight to his chest so that Horatio could feel the heartbeat beneath his palm. His own chest ached in sympathy.

He stayed like that, hand warm between Bush’s calloused hold and his beating heart, until the pressure eased and the heartbeat slowed, and Bush drifted into slumber.

Horatio pulled his hand free and crept from the room, careful not to disturb Bush. In his own bed he fell into a restless sleep, his palm still burning with the heat of Bush’s body.

***

Visiting the tailor was a special hell.

Horatio stood stock still, arms and legs spread like a captive, while the sour-faced tailor poked and prodded him for measurements. Every part of him was attended to in the process, until Horatio’s skin crawled with the casual invasion.

“Surely that is sufficient,” Horatio said, making a desperate pitch for an end to the proceeding. The little tailor looked at him over wire rimmed glasses and turned to make a series of notes in a well-used ledger. Finally he waved Horatio off the step.

“Done.”

So dismissive. But then again, a man who attended to admirals was unlikely to be intimidated by the likes of a newly-minted commander of a tiny sloop. He regretted again being bullied into engaging such an expensive service. While he knew it befit his new station, he could ill afford it. But both Maria and Mrs. Mason had talked so much of it that he eventually gave in, willing to spend the money if it meant they could stop discussing it.

Bush stood to the side, arms folded and watching with ill-concealed amusement. The man could easily laugh when his own dignity was preserved. Bush had kept his own purchases simple, restricted to a brown package containing new shirts and hose, and a pair of fine breeches unsullied by the harsh weather.

Free of the hated task at last, Bush and Horatio walked the cobblestone streets to the dock master’s office. Horatio’s heart grew lighter with each step as he talked over the detailed plans of _Hotspur’s_ preparations. His keen excitement similarly enthused Bush. It was clear Bush longed to make sail as much as Horatio. They plotted their two-fold attack on the reticent dock master, who was delaying their freshwater shipment, claiming he could not meet their deadline, but in fact was sitting on his ample rear, feet on desk, waiting for an equally fat bribe to inspire him to move faster.

By the end of their fruitful meeting, the man was amply motivated by a promise of a visit from admiralty’s naval marines for his obvious embezzlement and fraud if he did not produce their needed supplies. He wiped at his forehead with a grubby white handkerchief as he bowed and wished Horatio and Bush a good day, assuring them that his salt beef would greet them at the dockside for delivery this afternoon, and that the water would arrive directly before their planned departure.

Bush was headed to the dockside to receive a shipment of victuals, and Horatio decided to accompany him. When Bush hailed a boatman to take him to _Hotspur_ , Horatio was fairly hopping with his fervent desire to join him; he itched to feel the deck beneath his feet, and to see the process of the ship coming together. Bush saluted him and he returned it diffidently, desperately jealous that Bush should escape, even for a few hours, while he must return to the stifling house.

To hell with that. Rebellion sparked, and he made up his mind. Why shouldn’t a captain board his ship when he pleased?

Horatio waylaid a youth on the docks. He gave the boy a brief message, the Mason residence address, and a shilling for his trouble. The boy dashed away as Horatio called out to the small boat that they should hold, hurrying to the dockside.

As he hopped into the small rowboat, Bush pulled his hat off his head in speechless surprise.

“Yes, Mr. Bush?” Horatio said, gleeful at the opportunity to catch Bush off his guard. He maintained a stern expression, as though he had always intended to take this action.

“Are you not expected with the Masons for dinner this evening?” Bush asked.

“A minor change of plans.”

“I see.” Catching on at last, Bush looked away with his own poorly contained mirth.

Horatio probably should have been irritated with Bush for seeing through Horatio’s desperation to escape, but he was far too happy to smell the salt and feel the tug of the oars bringing him closer to his ship. Even the faint nausea at the choppy water did not encroach on his excitement.

***

There was a minor scuffle when the master and crew realized that both the captain and first lieutenant were coming aboard unannounced, but once they got past the hastily assembled welcome and were piped aboard, it became clear the Hotspur was in good stead. The crew was a polished bunch, mostly experienced seamen, and very few uninitiated lubbers hauled in from the press gangs. Whatever he had done to deserve such fortune, he couldn’t say—it was a rare gift in these days of a country strapped for men and money after years of war.

Horatio walked, paced, climbed and crawled over and under every inch of the ship. Hours ticked by in an instant as his orders sent the crew bustling. As a blaring background siren, Bush directed the swaying aboard of the casks of salt beef.

Dusk fell, and then the last of the light went. The lanterns were lit and activity trickled to a slow hum; at rest in the harbour there was no need for round the clock full watch, and the crew were given their rest.

The main deck was empty under the drizzling weather save the two men on watch, so Bush and Horatio walked _Hotspur’s_ length as they chatted over the day’s work. It had been a most productive venture, and Horatio felt more confident about their departure and the readiness of the ship.

“Will you go ashore, sir?” Bush asked. Bush would stay on ship and take care of the next day’s preparations while Horatio prepared for his wedding day.

He wanted nothing less. Even so, he mustered a smile.

“I should.”

“Very well, sir.” Bush clasped his hands behind his back and looked out towards shore.

“Yes.”

Neither made a move towards realizing this. Horatio wavered, knowing his delay made him look indecisive, but unwilling to leave _Hotspur_ in the hands of others when there was yet so much to do. And, even if it made him a terrible husband-to-be, even if he were a coward for it, he wanted to stay on board to use his duty as a shield from his other promises. His stomach turned at the thought of his own cowardice. He wondered if all men faced their wedding day with the enthusiasm of a man headed for the gallows.

“I must apologize, sir.”

Horatio was drawn from his thoughts. Bush was still watching the shoreline.

“Oh?”

“We have yet to review the navigation charts. I regret I did not bring this to your attention today.” Bush glanced at him, and then away. He nodded his head differentially. “I can, of course, attend to it on my own this evening, so that we may deal with any issues tomorrow, if need be.”

Tomorrow was the last day to do so, Bush was correct; though Horatio could well take the charts with him to shore and review them there. However, a small spark of excitement lit within him. A perfectly reasonable task for which his return could be delayed—should he wish to take it.

Bush was not a fidgeter, but he shifted his weight as though uncomfortable, repositioning his hands to clasp them at his front. With clarity he realized that Bush was extending an excuse for him to stay, walking the delicate line between rude assumption and tactful assistance.

He adopted a magnanimous air, choosing not to see the anxious shuffling.

“Apology accepted, Mr. Bush.” Decision made, he said nothing of his understanding and gestured towards the gangway. It was not needed; Bush understood his answer as clearly as Horatio had heard the offer. “The sooner we deal with it, the better.”

Bush nodded and they repaired below, shared knowledge hidden in their pockets.

***

“Sir.”

Horatio struggled out of a deep sleep, disoriented. Hard wood and paper pressed to his cheek.

“Sir. Horatio?” A soft touch on his head.

Horatio pried his eyes open, a tilted view of his cabin greeting him. He’d fallen asleep on the charts spread across his desk. Beside and leaning over him, gentle and tender in his attempts to waken him, Bush patted his head.

He sat up and back in the chair, rubbing his face to bring himself to wakefulness, but sleep did not wish to lose it’s grip on him. Bush sat on the edge of the desk, arms folded.

“You told me you were finishing up when I left last night.”

“Last night?” Horatio looked out the aft cabin windows at the grim dawn struggling into day. “Blast. I must have drifted off while reviewing the charts.”

Bush made a disgruntled noise.

His mind slowly and reluctantly came to life as he reviewed the day ahead. His last day, so to speak. Tomorrow morning the church, where his promise to Maria would be fulfilled. The cold chill that swept through him made him shiver unpleasantly.

“Horatio. Are you well?”

He looked up at Bush, who was leaning toward him with great concern. He shook his head to dismiss his concern, and then nodded when he realized this might be misinterpreted, and then stopped altogether when he realized he was midway between either gesture. He put a hand over his eyes as his self-pity overtook him in a moment of fatigued weakness.

“Bloody hell, William. What am I doing?” he moaned.

He dragged his hand over his face, and when he opened his eyes saw that Bush had moved to crouch near his knee. Bush placed his large hand on Horatio’s thigh above his knee, gripping it with a steadying force.

“You needn’t go through with this.”

“I cannot be so cruel as to fail her now.”

“Cruel to be kind,” Bush countered.

And he knew that Bush was right, in a sense. Maria would be happier with a devoted husband, one who would love her as much as she loved him in return. His deception of her and himself was cruelty personified. To prevent her a life of heartache—and himself one built on lies—he should bring a swift end to this folly.

But he could not. She would make a kind and loving wife, and he knew what duty, loyalty, and commitment meant, and how to fulfill them. He would be the husband she wanted—in action, if not in heart. It would have to do.

His fear and reticence tried to drag him under, but Bush anchored him with his firm hold. Horatio leaned forward to grip Bush’s shoulder in return.

“Thank you. You are a good friend.”

The corner of Bush’s mouth twisted up. He leaned close and kissed Horatio full on the lips. It was soft and short, filled with the reassurance and comfort he’d come to associate with Bush. It felt oddly natural, for all that Bush had never done it before, and it was over before he’d fully realized it had begun.

Bush examined him carefully, then dropped his gaze to the ground. Horatio’s hand slid from Bush’s shoulder as he stood.

“You will do what is best, I am sure. You always have.” He stepped back, nodding politely. “I will prepare the boat for our return to shore. By your leave, sir.”

Horatio nodded his permission, as he was quite unable to speak, overcome with a strange well of emotion. Already he missed the heavy weight of Bush’s hand on his thigh, and wished he had some understanding of what had just passed between them.

Bush made an exit and closed the door quietly behind him, speedily about his duty. Horatio frowned and sat back in his chair, rubbing his thumb across his bottom lip.

When the coxswain came with Bush’s compliments and to tell him the boat was ready for departure, he put aside his musings and began mentally preparing his apologies to Maria for his unplanned absence. He shut any further thoughts on the kiss away behind his cabin door, though the sense of well-being and comfort stayed with him.

If Bush was even more quiet than usual on their boat trip back to shore, he took no notice.

***

His apologies to Maria were brief, and their discussion following conducted in hushed voices as Bush waited for him in the parlour.

“I worried, Horatio,” Maria said, a vague and nervous disapproval in her voice. She was clearly trying not to burden him with her reproach, but his removal had caused her great distress.

“I am sorry, Maria. I had my responsibilities to the ship to consider, and I did try to inform you.” Horatio clasped her hands, trying to reassure her.

“Yes, we received your word.” Maria sighed, rallying with a determined smile and coming close to embrace him. “It does not matter. Tomorrow we shall be married, and there shall be nothing between us.”

Horatio wrapped his arms around her, fretting at her naive and seemingly bottomless forgiveness and love.

“Maria,” he reminded her gently, “I will sail in three days hence.”

“I know.” Maria buried her face in his chest. “And so, I will love you all the more dearly in the time we have.”

Her shoulders shook once, and he knew she was crying even though she did her best to hide it. Horatio did not know what to say. No one had ever loved him thus, and her naive sincerity took him flat aback. For one precious moment it ceased to be cloying, and wrapped around him like the warm embrace they shared. He stroked her back tenderly.

“Maria, you are too kind to me,” he sighed.

She hugged him tighter, and then they parted, both a little embarrassed and sheepish. Maria’s cheeks were damp, and Horatio produced his handkerchief and wiped away the tears, smiling at the delight his attention caused her.

“Now, you must go,” Maria said at last. “Tomorrow is our wedding day, and we must not court bad luck.”

He would next see her at the altar as they made their vows. The knowledge set his heart tripping, and he froze his smile in place, aiming to keep his demeanour calm and confident.

Maria checked the hall up and down for signs of prying eyes, and then stood on tiptoes to kiss Horatio.

She pulled away from him, and he stared down at her, confused and muddled. Sweet and innocent in his arms, so sincere and earnest, it stoked the fire that had been simmering in him. He couldn’t say how such a simple, chaste kiss could fuel it, but he could not help but draw her into another kiss. Maria made a small squeak of delight and kissed him back with incredible fervour.

“Mister Hornblower! I will thank you to remember she is not your wife yet!”

Horatio and Maria broke apart, startled by the shrill voice of Mrs. Mason. She stood on the stairway looking down at them like a parson from the pulpit. She turned to Maria.

“Get upstairs, young miss. There is still work to be done. Your wedding day will come soon enough.”

Maria ducked her head and dropped into a small curtsey, though she snuck Horatio an amused look before dashing away up the stairs.

“I am—I am sorry, Mrs. Mason. I apologize, I don’t know what—“ Horatio stuttered, until Mrs. Mason cut him off with a loud scoff.

“Like a bloody cur in the street. Get off with you now,” Mrs. Mason said, nose in the air. “We shall see you at the church, and not a moment before.” Without further ado, she turned her back on him and strode up the stairs after Maria.

Horatio slunk from the hall towards the parlour, thoroughly mortified and wishing for death.

In the parlour, Bush stood facing the mantle with his hands clasped behind his back, studiously inspecting a small wooden trinket with a care it did not deserve. Horatio cleared his throat, and Bush turned, expression schooled to indifference. He had heard every word of his tongue-lashing, and no doubt knew for what Horatio had been lambasted. His face burned with humiliation.

“Let’s go.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

Horatio looked at him, searching for some hint of amusement, but Bush carefully hid any thoughts he did have on the matter. Horatio grabbed his hat from the end table and stuffed it on his head, and they left for the dock masters office to follow up on their water shipment.

***

Bush, as always, had thought of all the things that had fallen through the cracks of Horatio’s attentions. He had booked accommodations for the evening with his own meagre pay, and refused repayment despite Horatio’s attempts to force it upon him.

“I am once again in your debt, Mr. Bush,” he finally said.

“Not at all, sir.” They had finished a stomach-stretching meal of stew and bread, a drink or two, and strolled to their lodgings. Bush had attempted to keep up companionable chatter as they walked, but as the night approached Horatio grew silent, dwelling on the morning to follow.

Maria would stand at the altar, and before God he would make the second eternal vow of his life. He’d promised himself to service of the King, and now what was left over would be promised to her. He was desperate to find some small corner of himself that would remain his own, and could find none. It seemed the only independence he’d be afforded was the thoughts that he kept silent in his head, and even those were occupied solely with the duties he had and would swear himself to.

It was _maddening_.

At the lodgings, they both carefully laid out their uniforms for the day to follow, Horatio brushing at the dress uniform and the endless braids of gold that adorned it. He had not owned something so fine before, and the shine of it glistened in the low candlelight. He laid his sword beside, adjusting it until the lines and angles of the ensemble were perfect. He fussed and fussed at the arrangement, but eventually even that was done.

All that remained was to sleep. He was sure he could not manage it.

The small room was claustrophobic, and he wished he had the length of the _Hotspur’s_ main deck to pace. He was regretting the stay ashore, but it had seemed the expedient choice given the early hour of the ceremony to come.

Promises, promises, promises. He was a coward, a liar, and bound by his word to carry through anyway. He could not be more miserable.

Bush, already in his nightshirt and ready for sleep, watched his agitated pacing in silence, as Horatio’s attempts at walking off his distressed energy was thwarted by the walls at each end of the room.

“Sir,” he ventured at last.

Horatio spun to him, grateful for any small thing to distract him. His heart had gone wild, thrashing about in his chest as though it would flee his body, and while he knew he was the farthest he could be from the picture of a composed, confident captain, he could do little about it.

“Yes? What is it?” he demanded.

Bush pursed his lips, and after a moment’s apparent indecision, rose and bent low to pull something from beneath his rickety bed. A brown package, tied with a red ribbon. He presented it to Horatio.

“It was to be a wedding present, but perhaps it would be more applicable now.”

He held it out to Horatio, who took it with some confusion. He pulled at the ribbon and unwound the paper. In it, a bottle of fine madeira, which likely had cost Bush a significant amount. He looked up, stunned.

“I do not know what to say,” he managed.

“Say you’ll have a drink, go to sleep, and stop wearing a trench in the floorboards.”

He took the bottle from Horatio’s hands. It was lightly said, enough so that Horatio found comfort rather than judgement in it. He sat on his own bed while Bush took his sword and opened the bottle and then passed it over. Horatio took a swig; it was too refined a taste for him to truly appreciate, but the warm glow was comforting nonetheless. He passed it back to Bush. Bush looked as though he would decline, so Horatio waved it insistently.

“I cannot possibly drink this alone. And I have a feeling Mrs. Mason would skewer me on sight should I try to share it with Miss Mason at this hour. ”

Bush chuckled. He took it and sat next to Horatio, taking a hearty drink.

Horatio took the bottle whenever Bush tapped insistently against his leg, alternately amused and irritated by the attempt to sedate him into unconsciousness. But Bush, bless him, picked up on Horatio’s mood and kept his thoughts to himself. They finished the bottle in silence, and when it was done Horatio set it on the floor by the bed. He laced his hands and leaned forward to place his elbows on his knees, falling into a fretful mood again.

“Sir.”

He started when Bush shook him.

“What?”

“Perhaps you would be able to rest now.”

His eyes had been closed for long enough that Bush thought he was dozing. Horatio glared at Bush, and he lashed out with all the bitterness that had been building in him.

“I’ve had one mother, God rest her soul, I do not require another!”

He leapt to his feet and resumed his pacing, now tired and drunk on top of his agitation. When he had calmed himself sufficiently he turned back to Bush, who bore a wounded expression, head down like a kicked dog.

Bush had done nothing to deserve his wrath. And in truth, Horatio was behaving as though he required care. He could not blame Bush for being a loyal friend.

“I apologize, Mr. Bush.” He tried to smile, and shook his head. “I am a poor excuse for a friend, abusing your good will thus.”

Bush waved off his apology, looking tired and drawn.

“Truly.” He came near to Bush, hovering awkwardly over him. “I’m sorry to have robbed you of your rest.”

He offered Bush his hand, and Bush took it, pulling himself to standing and holding it tightly.

“It is no matter,” Bush said, a small smile at last.

He squeezed Bush’s hand. Bush was so willing to forgive him all offence, even when Horatio did not deserve such loyalty and patience. It made him feel a foolish child at times, and at others it filled him with reassurance to have a touchstone as steady as Bush in his life. He was disappointed in himself to find his emotions see-sawing so wildly between extremes.

He wanted to express some of his thoughts, the amount and breadth of his gratitude to Bush, the monumental fear that lurked in him, but words were inadequate to the task. He remembered the kiss Bush had offered him in the privacy of his cabin, and the quiet warmth it had brought. Perhaps it was foolish, maybe bordering on inappropriate, but he could think of no better way to offer his regard than to give the same back again.

A simple kiss, filled with all the sincerity and care he could muster. It cost him nothing to give, and in truth filled him with a secret delight. He tried not to linger, pulling back after a careful count of three, and no longer.

Bush’s eyes were closed when he drew back, and he did not move. Horatio wondered if he had acted in error.

“William?”

“Yes.” Bush opened his eyes.

“I—“ he stumbled on his words, his hand hot in Bush’s, suddenly flustered beyond reason.

He did not finish the thought. Bush pulled him close and kissed him again, but it was no gentle kiss this time; it was open-mouthed and insistent. A firm hand at the back of his head held him, another cupped his cheek and jaw, and Bush kissed him until Horatio shook.

“I will stop if you wish it, sir,” Bush said into his mouth, and then kissed him again without pause for a response.

The sentiment made no impact. Horatio let Bush keep kissing him, wondering at his own naivety and innocence that he had not seen this coming. His arms and legs had gone numb with the rushing shock, all heat and life centred in the core of his body and the rough mouth against his. His hands dangled forgotten and useless at his sides.

Bush pushed him, urging him back on the bed without stopping his fervent kisses, pinning Horatio with his heavy body. Horatio was paralyzed beneath him. Bush’s leg pushed between his, and he stopped breathing at the hard press and the mind-numbing sensation it caused him. He gripped Bush’s strong shoulders, body going rigid and tight, bracing himself against the intensity of the feeling.

Bush stopped kissing him and raised himself up, looking down at Horatio, who gaped like a stunned fish. The lack of contact made him feel weightless. His face burned from the rough rub of Bush’s whiskers, and every one of his senses was alight with an incredible urgency. He panted, overwhelmed, as Bush braced himself over him.

“Horatio,” he whispered. “Is it alright?”

Horatio stared up at him, at the earnest concern that he usually saw when Bush was standing beside him nagging him to sleep, or eat, or trying to dissuade him from some foolhardy action in battle. It was not an expression he’d ever thought to see in this context. The thought tickled him, and despite his best efforts he started to laugh.

Bush frowned, and started to withdraw. Horatio sobered quickly and caught him before he could retreat. He licked his lips and tried to formulate a response.

Was it alright? He wasn’t sure that was the best way to describe the current state. He felt well enough, to be sure, even if he couldn’t quite track the progress of events that had lead to him flat on his back with a man—his dearest friend—on him, legs tangled with his, nightshirt rucked up, pressing his—

Horatio blushed at the blatant evidence of Bush’s desire for him hard against his hip. The realization stirred him and he shifted, a deeper heat taking hold of him.

“Horatio?”

Bush looked near frantic with worry, but his tone was soft and gentle. If not for the tight grip Horatio had on his arms holding him there, he was sure Bush would be cowering in the corner of the room. Horatio was taken by a fit of sentimentality for Bush’s love and care. For one bright moment, the very strength of it made him a better man, the type of man who deserved this kind of devotion and affection.

He put a hand behind Bush’s neck and drew him close and kissed him once again. Bush groaned into his mouth and fell upon him, his hands everywhere.

Maybe they’d always been headed to this place. Or perhaps it was another extension of the strangely symbiotic nature of their friendship; inevitable as night and day, a foregone conclusion granted by assumption, unquestioned. Whatever it was, he chose not to think on it further and abandoned himself to more immediate concerns.

***

Horatio woke early, overly warm and sweaty. He raised his head and quickly realized the cause—Bush, draped half over him, an arm about Horatio’s thin chest, trapping all his body heat in on him. His back stuck to the worn sheet below, and as he shifted he felt that Bush’s skin adhered to him wherever they touched.

Rather than disrupt Bush, he used one foot to work the wool blanket down and get some cool air on his skin. Bush stirred, shifting his head so he rolled onto Horatio’s shoulder, but his eyes remained closed, breath and hair tickling against Horatio’s neck. He smiled fondly. Even in sleep, Bush was free and forward with his affection.

Bush shifted again, and this time Horatio shivered as Bush closed his lips over Horatio’s nipple, giving it a suck and a lick with a low sleepy grumble. His large hand closed around Horatio’s prick, which stood stiff with sleep, and without preamble he gave it a stroke. Horatio gasped, eyes closing, hands moving to Bush’s neck and back.

How quickly his mind softened into a haze, sharp thought blurring into desire and base urges; Bush handled him with casual confidence, having stormed past any barricades and defences he had over the course of the night. Horatio surrendered and let himself be caught in the moment; he was much too unguarded to give any thought to holding back.

At every turn Bush had been so willing to give and offer while Horatio had only his clumsy attempts at reciprocation. How much of their friendship was him taking what Bush gave, while Bush accepted the meagre, inadequate crumbs Horatio was capable of providing in return? He felt sorry for the man that he should have such devotion to someone unable to give it back properly—and yet Horatio knew he was selfish enough to take it.

He laced his fingers into Bush’s hair and wrapped an arm about his shoulders as steady stroking set him squirming and panting. Bush hummed against his chest, sucking hard and wet at his nipple, the deep and gravelly sound reverberating in him. It did not take long; the wave of release overtook him, spilling across his belly and Bush’s hand.

He drew in a gulping lungful of air, finally able to breathe again, relaxing his iron grip on Bush. Bush chuckled, scooting up to kiss Horatio. Horatio accepted the kiss, befuddled and a little embarrassed to have so quickly succumbed to Bush and his ministrations; it wasn’t until he felt the brush of Bush’s hand moving that he roused himself to reach out. He pushed away Bush’s hand and replaced it with his own, the fat, thick flesh of Bush’s prick hot and stiff in his grip. He had no great talent or art for lovemaking, but the low noises of pleasure were sufficient to tell him that he was doing enough.

Horatio urged Bush to brace himself over him on hands and knees so he could lie back and watch his face. He had learned the signs of the approaching release, and as Bush grew closer he slowed his hand, moving with deliberate pace. Bush quivered, his expression tense, and his brow damp with sweat. Eventually he groaned in frustration, dropping his forehead to the pillow, pressing his cheek to Horatio’s.

“Please, Horatio.”

Horatio was fascinated at the power this simple act had over them. Enough to reduce a man to begging, enough to make him forget his pride, his promises, his dignity. He slowed his hand even more and squeezed. Bush whimpered—an actual wordless, high pitched whimper, something Horatio swore he’d never heard from a grown man—and Bush’s hips worked to meet his hand. Horatio moved with him, working against him, unwilling to give up his hold yet.

“Please, sir.” His voice was hoarse. “Please.”

Horatio turned his face and kissed his cheek, nuzzled his ear. “Alright, alright,” he whispered, smiling despite himself.

He quickened his pace and Bush groaned into the pillow, muffling the sound as best he could. His prick stiffened further, growing hard and long, until he emptied himself across Horatio’s belly, adding to the sticky mess already there.

With only a pause for a quick kiss to Horatio’s forehead, Bush rose from the bed and fetched a washing up cloth, and threw it to Horatio so he could wipe himself down. Sex was really very messy, Horatio thought to himself, wiping at himself. A ridiculous affair. Even so, the lazy, pleasant glow that relaxed him from head to toe was glorious.

He turned his head to look at Bush, catching instead on the dress uniform laid out on the table. The relaxation evaporated like fog with the rising sun.

Bush was already dressing, having cleaned himself quickly, and paid Horatio no mind. With every piece of clothing Bush put on, reality asserted itself until Horatio’s first lieutenant stood before him again, eyebrow raised, as though wondering what had kept his captain abed this long.

Horatio got up from the bed and began to dress himself, dreading the day to come.

***

Bush waited patiently through Horatio’s violent bout of vomiting at the grotty hotel, as well as the once in the gutter on the way to the church, and again in a discreet hedge behind the stone chapel before they made their way inside to sit on the hard bench and wait.

A rustle, soft murmuring, and he turned to see Maria coming in and up the aisle. He was on his feet in an instant with the rest of the few friends who’d come to see the nuptials. He swallowed hard, then squared his shoulders.

This was a new day. From now on, he would be a husband. The man at his back, face grim with an air of disapproval and resignation, silent because Horatio wished him to be so, would be his first lieutenant, and Horatio his captain. They would continue on as always.

Bound by duty at sea, bound by a promise before God on shore, and only the confines of his skull for anything that did not fit those two worlds.

 _It’s not too late to change your mind._ Bush’s words echoed in his thoughts for the entirety of the ceremony, as words and phrases spilled from his lips, and up until the last were spoken, and a pronouncement made.

The time had passed, the decision made through his indecision. Oh, what had he _done_?

Maria beamed at him, her face alight with her happiness, and Horatio smiled his best. She loved him, and that could be enough. It wouldn’t be the first time his duty was a challenge. He’d faced greater and come through to the other side.

As well-wishers hugged and kissed Maria, Bush came to him with his hand extended, now with a pleasant smile and warmer attitude. They shook firmly, and Bush nodded.

“Congratulations, sir. She’ll make a devoted wife, no doubt.”

“Thank you, Bush.”

“I know the timing is poor, but a matter has come up. The Admiralty has sent a messenger with a packet for you.”

He would never, ever admit to the gut-churning relief the statement granted him. He made his excuses to Maria, kissing away her pout with a sincere apology, and hurried from the room with Bush, who was still a solid, comforting presence.

Horatio Hornblower, captain and husband.

He could do this.


End file.
